


Awake

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Short Stories! [53]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky is Trapped inside the Soldier, F/M, First Meetings, Ghosts, Halloween, Halloween AU, James "Bucky" Barnes/Wanda Maximoff-centric, Lonely Bucky Barnes, M/M, Magic, Romanian Night of the Spirits, Scarlet Witch - Freeform, Sirens, Spooky, Wanda is a Real Witch, Werewolves, Winter Soldier Bucky, commissions, winterwitch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: A commission from Tumblr: On the Romanian Holiday Night of the Spirits, the part of the Winter Soldier that is still 'James' breaks free from the Soldier's control and goes out looking for answers, walking as a ghost in a city filled with spirits, witches, and werewolves.////////The Soldier stumbled to the window and stopped short when he saw the reflection in the glass.  A young face free of stubble or scars, blue eyes and short brown hair. He was wearing a blue buttoned jacket, military issued pants and heavy boots. Two real hands, and a body that hadn’t been twisted and tortured by Hydra.“Who are you?” The Soldier asked in disbelief, and when he raised his hand to his face, the young man in the reflection did the same. “…Are we–?”--“The 107th. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”--It was a memory from another lifetime, another person, another version of him-- “James.” the Soldier said slowly. “Are we James again?”





	Awake

**Awake**. 

The Soldier was awake. 

He was _awake _and he was outside– _when had he left the motel room_?

_Panic _flickering at the back of his mind. 

Usually there was no adjustment from being asleep to being awake, usually there wasn’t more than a breath between the weighted dark of cryo freeze and the too bright awareness of _activated_, no more than a second where the Soldier _wasn’t _and then all the sudden he _was_. 

Had he been activated and unaware for several minutes? Had they woken him up and he hadn’t fully come online before they sent him out? Had he–

–_no_. 

The soldier had been activated days ago. Activated and released into the world to kill a man that hadn’t even seen the Soldier coming, a man who walked through the door of his secured hideaway and found the Soldier sitting at his table. The target had thought to scream, but the Soldier put a bullet through his forehead before the man could take a breath, and then was gone out the window less than a minute later. 

There had been confirmation of completion, directions to a small motel and a key to a shoddy room. The Solider had lain on the bed and closed his eyes and now– now he was _awake_. 

And he was _outside_. 

_What had happened?_

The sun was going down and it was _brilliant_, red and orange fading to blue and purple, the colors so vivid it nearly hurt his eyes. The air was cold, cold and crisp and _stinging _against his face and the Soldier automatically reached to swipe his hair out of the way, to pull up his half mask, but he stopped mid motion when his hand didn’t glint silver and the sound of gears grinding didn’t cut harsh at his ears. 

The soldier stared down at his hands, at _both _his hands, smooth and scar free and real. 

_What_?

A window, catching the last light of the day and reflecting painfully bright, and the Soldier stumbled towards it, twisting his body so he didn’t bump into anyone in his path, instinctively dodging the small dog that wove between his feet. In between unsteady breaths and the desperateness to understand what was happening, the Soldier thought it was _odd _no one was staring at him. 

_Why weren’t they staring?_

He was meant to be stared at, meant to inspire fear. Even without his silver arm the Soldier was massive, hulking and brutal and something from nightmares when he wore his mask. _Danger _rolled from his shoulders and even the other Winter soldiers stepped away when he came into a room,. His handlers couldn’t disguise the scent of _fear _when they activated him and civilians screamed when they saw him, _if _they saw him, before he took their lives. 

_Why weren’t they staring?_

The Soldier stumbled to the window and stopped short when he saw the reflection in the glass. 

A young face free of stubble or scars, light blue eyes and short, wind styled brown hair. A lean frame wearing a blue buttoned jacket, military issued pants and heavy boots. Two _real _hands, and a body that hadn’t been twisted and modified and tortured by Hydra. 

“Who are you?” The Soldier asked in disbelief, and when he raised his hand to his face, the young man in the reflection did the same. “…Are we–?” 

_“The 107th. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”_

It was a memory from another lifetime, another person, another version of him that wasn’t _this _him but maybe– maybe–

“James.” the Soldier said slowly, the man in the glass mirroring the deep breath he took in, the way his eyes widened. “Are we _James _again?” . 

Somehow, he was only a few feet from the entrance of his motel and the Soldier rushed through the lobby and up the stairs, his steps light despite the boots on his feet. The little girl on her way down the hall didn’t so much as _startle _when he ran past her, but her mother flinched away as if she’d been hit by a blast of cold air. 

_That _was how he expected people to react to seeing him, jumping away, shivering, gasping. 

Though the woman hadn’t actually looked up and seen him, had she? But how could she _not _see him? Even in this form he was _big _and the sight of a man running panicked through a motel should garner at least a look, at least a glance, at least a _notice_.

The door to the Soldier’s room was closed which seemed… odd… but maybe he’d closed it after leaving the room and walking downstairs? Had he done that? Did that make sense?

The Soldier didn’t like having so many questions and not enough answers. The Soldier’s life held very few questions beyond the details of his mission and how quickly it had to be completed and he didn’t like the _noise _in his head right now, the questions and uncertainty and all the things he didn’t understand about why he looked like _James _and why no one saw him and how he’d gotten down to the street when the last thing he remembered was going to sleep. 

He was spiraling. 

He needed to _focus_.

The Soldier was in the room without noticing that he had moved, and when he looked over his shoulder the door was still closed and that was _wrong wrong wrong_ and unsettled something deep in his core. 

But a still closed door wasn’t half as unsettling as turning back to the motel room and seeing _himself _lying on the bed. 

Not himself. 

_The Soldier. _

_The Soldier_ was lying on the bed in the motel room still as death, eyes closed, fists clenched because even in the hazy stasis that passed as sleep, the Soldier was ready to leap into action. The Soldier was dressed in familiar clothes– black tactical vests, black pants, boots– and his hair was long, face scarred, left hand gleaming in the yellow lights of the drab room. 

The Soldier was still on the bed. 

And _he _was somehow awake. 

James _was _the Soldier– he was _not _the Soldier– he was _someone_. He had been trapped in the back of the Soldier’s mind, rattling at the bars of his prison and screaming for _help_, trying to claw his way to freedom. He had almost won his way out, back before Hydra had upped the dose of _everything_, before they had doubled the pain and doubled the hurt, James had almost won. 

But then the Soldier had woken up and James had been silenced, and after so many years, he thought _James _had died all together, his misery ended just like his life had ended the day he fell off the–

_–off the–_

He frowned, and the Soldier’s body on the bed twitched as if in annoyance. 

James remembered dying, but he didn’t remember what or why or how. He didn’t recognize what he was wearing, though he recognized the face in the tiny bathroom mirror. There had been war, there had been a tiny blond who wanted to fight– that _hurt_, so he didn’t think about the blond anymore– there had been Hydra and there had been capture and then there had been a table and restraints and injections–

And there had been _James_, even when the beginnings of the Soldier were there as well. 

It was surreal to remember but not to remember, to have pieces of his mind be _James _and have others locked down beneath decades of manipulation and repression. 

It was surreal to be someone again, and at the same time, to not be any one at all. 

“James.” he said into the mirror, touching <strike>the face</strike> his face with fingers that weren’t silver anymore. “James. You are James. I am… I am James. _James_. I am–” 

_“Bucky, no!”_

No no no, Bucky _hurt_, whatever or whoever Bucky was _hurt_, so <strike>he </strike>James pushed that thought away too. 

“James.” he said again, and looked down at the blue jacket and boots, knowing he should know these clothes but the memories were buried too far to find. “I am… James.” 

**************

The air in the city _Constanța _was thick, heavy with electricity and excitement, biting cold with coming frost, and James turned up the collar of his blue jacket to ward off the chill as he set out to see… to see something. _Anything_. He didn’t know why this part of himself had separated from the Soldier, but the chance to breathe without the strain of Hydra’s influence was almost intoxicating, and James didn’t want to waste it. 

It could be a dream, it could be a delusion, the Soldier might have actually died and freed this tiny bit of James’s consciousness for a few moments. This might be purgatory before they were dragged to Hell to pay penance for decades of horror wrought on the world, it might be another mind trick of Hydra’s meant to break him. 

No matter _what _this was, he intended to take the time to explore, to be alive, to be _James_. 

_One more time, just one more time, he just wanted to be real one more time._

Romania was beautiful, familiar to James for reasons he didn’t know or maybe just couldn’t remember. The city was ancient, old buildings mashed together with new, columns and statues looming above noisy vehicles, the people a mix of traditional and modern. Away from the city center the sea crashing against the rocks, miles of mooring posts and floating docks heaving in the waves. A lighthouse stood tall above the merchant ships and fishing boats that rocked in the harbor and the noise from the crowds gathered was almost deafening.

James tipped his head back and inhaled the salt on the wind, wondering if he’d ever actually taken the time to do it before, marveling over the startling cold at his face and the way his fingers tingled as the wind turned them numb. 

When was the last time he noticed the weather beyond whether or not it would affect a mission? The last time he’d smelled fresh food being prepared and was hungry? 

_…Was this what it was to be human again? _

There was lively music to the East and James turned onto a busy street, hugging the sides of the building more out of habit than anything else. The people flowed around him as if they didn’t notice him walking the same direction, a few shuddering like the mother at the motel had done, an older woman muttering a quiet prayer when he passed too close. 

James felt _invisible_, as if everyone were looking right through him and it was unsettling. Eerie. 

The crowd turned down a cobblestone side street and hurried towards a display of lights, funneling into a narrowing alley and jostling one another. The buildings loomed tall over their heads, the fading sun not reaching down and to the corners and all at once it was harder to breathe, and a sense of _wrong _made James’s skin crawl, the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

And then he made eye contact with a shadow that morphed into a man dressed all in black, wearing a tall hat and long coat and James _knew _that man saw him.

No one else noticed James but _that _man did, and the strangers lips turned up into a cruel smile, his eyes overly bright and _empty _all at the same time. He _saw _James, but when James blinked in surprise, the man was gone in the crowd just that fast, disappearing like smoke scattered in the increasingly packed street. 

_A ghost_. James’s mind supplied even as he tried to brush off the idea. _I just saw a ghost. _

The need to _escape _clanged through James’s head as more and more people merged together down the alleyway that was somehow more narrow than it had been just a moment before. James gasped out loud, loosened the buttons at his neck because he couldn’t _breathe _and it was dark and they were all headed for something _terrible_–

–and then the sky opened up again and the street spilled into a field crowded with festive flags and vendors booths. 

It was a fair. A festival. James felt foolish for panicking when the alley had only led to something fun. 

_Decades of being the Soldier and he found terror even in entertainment. _

There were tents of every color crammed into every spare inch of ground across a grassy field. Some boasted games and prizes to be won, others sold trinkets and clothing, even more advertised palm readings and fortune telling. There was a stage bathed in lights and a band playing lively music, dancers with bells on their clothing swirling beneath colored lights. The acrid scent of alcohol was on the breath of nearly everyone that passed by James, and their arms were full of piles and piles of food. 

A festival. A party and James smiled– wanted to smile– because he thought maybe he _remembered _being excited for fairs and parties and good food and cheap prizes. 

_“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?”_

Another memory linked to the idea of a tiny blonde boy and James shook it off, shook off the _ache _at the base of his skull and went back to exploring the fair. 

No matter what they were selling or hawking or giving away, every tent in the field had a garland of garlic hung by the door, some strands decorated with autumnal blooms and colors, others woven into wreaths and entwined with sage and thyme or a sprig of wolfs bane. 

In some distant, _far _part of his mind James remembered stories of the herbs keeping spirits away, that garlic kept the evil from entering homes and stealing loved ones away. There was a name for tonight, a name for the festival but it was another memory James couldn’t reach, another part of himself locked away behind the Soldier. 

James recoiled when a _wolf _suddenly passed too close to him, black fur and red eyes, teeth bared and snout dripping red as it wove through the people to nearly trod on James’s feet. The animal looked up, looked _at _him, and James’s heart thudded to a stop–

–and then restarted with a _lurch _as someone stepped through the wolf and went on their way.

“They don’t see you?” James asked out loud, _foolish _of course because the wolf couldn’t answer him. “I don’t think they see me either.” 

The wolf huffed and licked at it’s stained chops before going on it’s way again, weaving through the crowd with impossible grace, nose scenting something only _it _could smell, searching for a prey James somehow knew would be as other wordly as the beast that stalked it. 

The crowd that had brought James through the streets scattered to different parts of the fair, some people heading for the games to lose their money on rigged contests and cheer over cheaply made prizes, and others going right for the food carts. The food smelled _incredible_, heavily spiced meats and fragrant smoked vegetables, candied nuts and syrupy sweet pastries. James paused mid step to watch a child fit an entire _papanasi _into their mouth and then burst out laughing and spray jam across their sibling, who predictably shrieked and demanded a treat of their own. 

The scene reminded James of home, whatever _home _was meant to be. Yet another bit of himself lost behind the Soldier’s psyche and James flinched away from the edge of a migraine as he tried to remember _who _he used to share sweet treats with, or how his Ma had made _papanasi _at home when he was little. 

_His Ma. _

James’s steps faltered as a smiling face and warm eyes floated in front his mind. 

_Did he remember his Ma?_

The moment was there and gone, a flash of light swallowed by darkness, and James pushed it away as he left the food carts behind and moved further into the fair, following some of the more daring visitors as they ventured towards the fortune teller’s tents. 

Over and over James watched people lay down their money to gaudily dressed clairvoyants, crowd around laughably decorated tables and gaze into crystal balls most likely purchased from the shops a few streets over. The faux psychics wore scarves and bells, adopted overly thick accents to play up their craft, and the customers laughed in excitement when their prediction was always exactly what they wanted to hear– fortune of fame of the promise of love in the upcoming holidays. 

There were some people who didn’t go into the tents, but instead hung around the sides watching with dull, empty eyes as unwitting _fools _tramped in and out. Sometimes they reached too long limbs out to touch a passer by, sometimes they cringed away from a woman who seemed to glow, a man who was clouded by darkness. 

And sometimes, _sometimes_, they parted red lips to show off crooked fangs and dug suddenly clawed fingers into someone’s back, leaned close and whispered _terrors _into their prey’s ear and James felt his chest constrict with worry when the affected people just kept walking as if they didn’t notice. 

_They didn’t notice the horror haunting them? _

There was one tent set further away from the others, a tent draped in scarlet canvas and tied open with golden rope, not a strand of garlic or sage to be seen, empty of the protective talisman scattered around the grounds and hanging off other tents. 

Few people came to this tent and James edged closer when he heard someone curse as they stomped away, a man every bit as big as James looking almost terrified, his over dressed date screeching about creepy witches and _lies _and that he couldn’t believe what she said, she was obviously a _charlatan_. 

And there was a wolf again, lingering at the edge of the tent with a wary expression. Not the same wolf as before, this one was white and silver with crystal blue eyes and it stared at James with an intensity that made his breath stutter.

_Why were there wolves and why didn’t anyone else see them?_

“Read your fortune?” A voice from the tent and James dragged his gaze from the wolf to the woman at the door. “Or have you come for something else?” 

“I–” James looked over his shoulder, then over to the side, checking for anyone else close by. “Are you talking to me?” 

“Do you see anyone else?” Her accent was neither fake or exaggerated, a bluntness to her enunciation that proved her a local, a sort of lyrical twist to the tone that proved she spoke this language and several more. “Why wouldn’t I be talking to you?” 

James looked around again and this time he saw the black wolf at his peripherals, the creatures with too long limbs and empty eyes just behind his back, all of them hesitating, _waiting_, none of them willing to come any closer. 

“…you can see me?” He asked in a near whisper. “I don’t think anyone else can see me.” 

“_They _can.” The woman motioned to the others gathered at the edges of her clearing. “_They _can see you, just like you can see them. Why are you so surprised, this is not your first _Noaptea Strigoilor_, you are too old a ghost to be recently gone from this plane.” 

“Too old a ghost.” James repeated. “This plane? I’m– I’m not a _ghost_.” 

“No?” The woman’s dark eyes flared bright red and a bolt of _power _hit James right in the chest, shoving him back several feet and into the path of another fair-goer who did nothing more than shiver as she _walked right through James_ and wandered down the path past the strange woman’s tent. 

“She walked through me!” James didn’t mean to sound hysterical, he’d never been hysterical a day in his life but the _woman had walked through him_ and hadn’t noticed beyond acting as if she were cold— “Am I a ghost?” 

“Well, you’re certainly dead.” The woman– the witch?– inclined her head to her shelter. “Come inside and away from the others. With so many humans to hunt they may leave you alone, but then again, they may not. They are hungry and unhinged and tonight so many of us walk closer to the surface, anything at all could happen.” 

“What do you mean, so many of _us_.” James spun away from spidery, reaching fingers that brushed at his side, lifeless eyes that tried to catch his gaze and stare into his soul. “Who is _us_?” 

“The _strigoii _and _moroii_, the ancient witches and wild wolves.” the woman drew the cover on the entrance to her tent so they were shielded from the eyes. “I am a witch, so what are you? A spirit rising from the grave to draw your strength from spilled blood or a ghost wandering because you refuse to leave this world behind and be put to rest?” 

“I–” James looked around her tent, at the rich pillows and thick blankets, the stack of cards at her table and a crystal ball that reflected his own distorted face. “– I am a soldier. I died a long time ago.” _I think._ “James. My name is James.” 

“Is that your name or the one they gave you?” the witch asked, drawing her shawl around her body as she sat on a low bench. “The ones who hurt you. I can feel it in your aura, an entire life of pain. Do _they _call you James or is that who you _know _you are?” 

“…It’s my name.” 

“James then.” a delicate hand reached out from the folds of her dress and James hesitated before taking it. “They call me Wanda and they call me Witch. I don’t care for either, but you may call me whichever you wish.” 

“…Wanda.” James tested the name, and Wanda’s lips curled into a smile. “You… you’re actually a witch? I didn’t think they were real.” 

“_Witch _is the easiest term for what I am.” There was suddenly a kettle boiling over and water ready for tea and James drew in a breath, blinked and in the next instant there was a cup of tea in his hands, remnants of red magic fading into the air. “Drink, James. It will settle your heart.” 

“How do I know this won’t hurt me?” James challenged, and Wanda’s dark eyes narrowed in assessment. 

“Why would a soldier know to be worried of poison? How did you die?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

Another spark of red and Wanda was suddenly at James’s side, kneeling on the floor and taking the cup from his hands, staring up at him curiously. “Could I see? Would you let me see? It would help you remember.” 

James shook his head, scared for a reason he didn’t quite understand. “No. I don’t want to remember. No one wants to know how they died.” 

“But you do.” Magic was curling between the witch’s fingers, flickering and sparking and James watched it uneasily. “Because it is a piece of who you used to be and you cling to each piece of that desperately, the same way you cling to your name. You want to remember or you wouldn’t have left your body to wander tonight. We _all _walk a little closer to earth in these hours, and as it gets closer to midnight you will be closer and closer to human. Do you want to remember before our time starts to diminish?” 

She smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting. “It is no coincidence you found me tonight, James. It is no coincidence that I see you even though I do not always see the _others _that hover around my tent.” 

“Why do they hover?” James couldn’t take his eyes from the power arcing off Wanda’s palm. “Why don’t they come close to you like they go close to the humans or the other witches?” 

“Because the other witches are only playing at herbs and protection spells. I’ve pulled a man’s consciousness from his body and shredded it to pieces while he screamed. I do not _play _at anything” Wanda inched closer and put a warm hand on James’s knee. “And because I am far, far older than most of the _strigoi _that wander this place, and they know better than to bother me.” 

“Then why do you set up your tent here at the festival?” 

“For moments like this.” the witch said simply. “Moments when the newly lost ghosts come to surface and need direction and protection.” 

“I am not a newly lost ghost.” James ground his teeth, tensing himself against the _knowing _that wound through his core. He wasn’t a ghost but he was something, he was– he was—

He was dead. 

This him, this _James_, he was _dead_. 

“You are not dead.” The witch countered, answering a question James didn’t realize he had asked aloud. “But neither are you alive. I have met someone like you once before but you feel different than he did. _Closer _than he did. Let me see you, so I can answer both our questions and help you on the next part of your journey.” 

Wanda held up her hands again. “It won’t hurt, I won’t hurt you. You can trust me James.” And she raised an eyebrow at him to ask, “And even if you cannot trust me, you are a ghost. What harm could it could it do?” 

“What harm could it do?” James echoed, thinking about the body of the Soldier laying in the motel, and about the life waiting for him if he ended up back inside that shell. His time with Hydra had been nothing but pain, nothing but darkness and horror and being helpless as he watched himself do the sort of things reserved for nightmares. 

_What harm could it do? _

“Alright.” he said slowly, and in a motion more instinct than purposeful, James swept his fingers through his hair and combed it back from his face, tipping his chin up and trying to smirk. “What’s th’harm. Lay it on me.” 

Wanda laughed quietly. “I think you were very much yourself right then, James. Were you that charming as _human_?” 

“You tell me.” James forced bravery into the words and tapped at his temple. “Tell me if this is who I am or not.” 

“Come here, then.” The witch got to her knees and pulled off elbow length gloves, flexing her wrists and then her fingers as she called her magic stronger. “Close your eyes.” 

James’s head snapped back when the witch’s fingers landed at the side of his face, flashes of _scarlet _warping his vision and snapping behind his eyelids when he screwed his eyes shut tight. 

It didn’t _hurt _but it was awful all the same. James could feel the witch in his head, in his mind, peeling back the layers of repression and the locks Hydra had put into place–

_“Bucky! Bucky, no!” _

_“You remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island? This isn’t payback, is it?” _

_“So what about you? Are you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” _

_“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” _

_“The 107th, Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out first thing tomorrow.” _

_….“I wanna go with you.” The apartment was almost dark, but they were waiting to turn on the lights until the last possible moment to try and save the electricity. “Don’t seem fair that you get to go.” _

_“Won’t be fair to me if you do go.” James–Bucky–countered, flopping onto the bed and putting his arm around a set of thin shoulders, hugging a bony frame close to his side. “Who’s gonna write me love letters to get me through the winter over there if you’re out there in the mud and shit too?” _

_“M’not gonna write you love letters anyway.” came the stubborn reply. “Not gonna take care of you neither when you come home with a bullet in your ass.” _

_“Liar.” Bucky wrestled the other one down to the mattress and cuddled up close. “You’re gonna miss me and you’ll kiss my ass when it hurts cos the bullet.” _

_“M’not. I swear I won’t.” _

_“Yeah you are. You’ll miss me.” Bucky propped up on one elbow so he could stare down at dark blue eyes framed with thick blonde lashes, a ridiculously cute nose, and the upward tilt of a beautiful mouth. “Cos I’m gonna miss you, baby doll. You’re with me, right? End of the line, we said. How’s it gonna be the end of the line if you won’t miss me? That don’t see right.” _

_He waited and waited, poked and prodded and finally tickled until he got a snort of laughter from the blonde and a set of warm lips mashed up against his own along with a muttered, “Course I’ll miss ya, Buck. You’re my fella and I love you.” _

_“I love you too.” Bucky said hoarsely. “Don’t wanna leave ya neither.” _

_“Guess you gotta.” A small hand pushed at Bucky’s chest until he fell back into the pillows. “Just make sure you come home to me, alright? I already said g’bye to too many people I love, don’t wanna say g’bye to you too. Don’t make me do that. Come home to me, Buck.” _

_“M’always gonna come home to ya, Stevie.” _

_**Stevie**. _

_“I can make it on my own.” _

_“I’m with you to the end of the line.” _

_“I thought you were dead!” _

_“That little guy from Brooklyn that was too dumb to run away from a fight, I’m following him.” _

_“I had him on the ropes!” “Yeah Stevie, I know you did.” _

_“Bucky! Bucky, no!” _

_ **“You are to be the new fist of Hydra.” ** _

James wrenched away from Wanda’s hands when the memories came too fast to handle, flitting through his mind and popping _painful _against his consciousness as time dialed itself back through a rush of moments, voices, snapshots of his life before slamming to a stop at that one night, that one conversation, that one confession of _love_. 

Then everything ratcheted forward again until James could feel himself _falling _and feel the crush of snow and the sear of his arm _ripping _from his body. 

“James.” Wanda sounded horrified for him, sounded like she might even be close to tears. “_O Doamne_, James–” 

James fell off the chair in his rush to get away, scrabbling at the floor and scrambling on all fours before finding his feet and bolting for the door. 

The _others _scattered when he ran into their midst, over long limbs folding back into shadowy bodies and flat gazes turning away as if the witch’s lingering magic hurt their senses. The only thing that didn’t turn away was the white wolf and James stared at the beast for a long, horrified moment, recognizing his own eyes in the animal’s face. 

_His own eyes, in the white wolf’s face. _

_What in the hell—_

He didn’t know where he was running or even why he was running, but James went anyway, following the path of the festival as it wound between tents and booths, through the crowds massing by the stage and behind the dancers twisting and twirling with their scarves and tambourines.

Everywhere James turned there were more people and more noise, too many bodies packed into too small a space and every time one of them passed through James without noticing, he slipped a little closer to _breaking_. 

Everywhere James looked there were more of the _others_, outstretched arms and wicked fangs, clawed fingers searching for a perch, deadened eyes locking onto the color of men’s souls and claiming them as their own and every time another human was grasped, James slid a little further towards _cracking_. 

The world was spinning, his heart arching over newly remembered pain, vision clouding and breath choking, legs failing and muscles clenching, he was falling, he was _falling_——

_It was too much, it was too much, itwastoomuchitwastoomuchitwastoomuch—–_

“James.” 

A hand at his shoulder, solid and _real _and James spun on his heel with wild eyes and harsh breaths. 

“James, settle.” Wanda put her other hand at James’s arm and held him tight. “You’ve been wandering for hours and it is nearly midnight, nearly time for the _others _to start hunting in earnest. Come back to my tent with me.” 

“Hours.” James gasped out. “How has it been hours? I’ve been trying to leave the festival and following the paths–”

“On _Noaptea Strigoilor,_ no paths lead anywhere.” The witch lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “You were here when the sun set and you are bound here until it rises again. Come with me before the humans feel our presence and the others take their prey below.” 

“…below _where_?” 

Wanda shook her head as if she didn’t want to answer. “The _Iele _will be at the cross roads soon, singing their songs to tempt those left behind into their arms and that is something neither human nor spirit can resist. You cannot be out alone tonight, lest you find yourself in company of the something terrible waiting in the shadows.” 

“I am usually the something terrible.” James said woodenly, allowing the witch the take his hand and guide him back through the thinning crowds. “_I _am usually the something terrible waiting in the shadows.” 

“Perhaps in your other form you are the something terrible.” Wanda’s eyes lit brilliant, _furious _red when one of the _others _strayed too close and sharp nails reached for her companion. The ground at the other’s feet lit with scarlet sigil lines and the creature wailed in agony as it was first burned, and then banished at the witch’s command. “But tonight and in this place, you are the least dangerous of those who walk the festival.”

James didn’t know what to say to that. The Soldier was _never _the least dangerous in any place but perhaps <strike>he </strike>_James _was. At one time he’d been a good man and a good fighter but now he was neither. Not a man anymore, not a fighter with the Soldier but a _killer_. 

“We have all been used in ways we do not want.” Wanda cut a sideways glance to James as if she’d heard his thoughts. “But those who own us do not own our souls. I think that’s why you’ve come in this form to the Night of Spirits instead of the form of your Soldier. This is who you are beneath what they have done to you.” 

“But I am a ghost like this.” James countered numbly, still too overwhelmed to think clearly. “That means this part of me is dead. Gone. I’ll never be James again, not really.” 

“I disagree.” Wanda swept open the door of her tent and hurried him inside, sealing the portal with a few muttered words and a spray of magic glittering in the air. “If this part of you was really gone, I wouldn’t be able to feel you.” 

James sucked in a harsh breath when the witch’s hand landed feather soft at his cheek, but when Wanda smiled encouragingly, he closed his eyes and tipped his head down into the touch. “See there? A few hours ago when you came to me, I had to call my magic to touch you. Now it is nearly midnight and you are whole, solid. Real. James is real, _you _are real, whether you are always _you _or not.” 

James shuddered when Wanda’s fingers swept down across his cheek to his jawline, and then lower still to rest over his pulse. 

“See?” she repeated in a whisper. “_Real_. And for right now, alive in whichever way matters.” 

“Alive.” James made an anxious, _desperate _sound when the witch moved away. “No please don’t–please–” 

“Hush, love. I’m here.” Wanda soothed him gently, taking James’s other hand and squeezing as tight as she could. “You’re here and I’m here, it’s alright.” 

“I need–” James couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe. His _skin was crawling because he knew the _others _were just outside the walls of the tent, held at bay only by the witch’s magic. He knew the wolves were stalking the masses and staining their fur with blood, he had heard the singing at the crossroads, knew the siren demons– the _Iele_– were out tonight ready to bargain for souls. 

He knew it all and he couldn’t breathe and he _needed_—

–The witch startled when James bent and kissed her, his lips coarse and dry, the grasp of his hands at her waist as desperate as the breath he was so frantically trying to finish. 

“Settle.” Wanda called her magic, poured it through her palms and into James’s chest, easing the strain of _panic _in his soul. “Settle, love. There’s no need for that.” 

“No no, there is. There _is_. Tell me I’m real.” James said hoarsely, burying his face in her neck and clutching her tighter. “You see me, don’t you? Tell me I’m real, tell me _James _is real, I didn’t die on that train, I didn’t die, I’m real–” 

“You are real.” Wanda slid her hands up James’s arm to sift through his hair and when the big soldier shuddered and pressed closer, she crooned something soothing in a language he didn’t recognize, one nearly as ancient as the witch herself. “_James _is real, you are not all lost behind the Soldier. This part of you is alive, even if he is not always present.”

This time when James moved to kiss her, Wanda let her fingertips light red so her touch poured pleasure and contentment through the man, softening her mouth to be pliant beneath his lips, standing on her toes to lengthen the embrace until James groaned quiet and _wanting _and gasped her name. 

“This is not a night to be alone.” she whispered into his ear. “But neither is it a night to forge bonds we are not prepared to honor. A night with a witch is a ticket to eternity and _that _is a choice your heart is not ready to make. I would own a piece of you James, it’s how these things work.” 

“I don’t care.” Desire _roared _through James as he palmed over the folds of Wanda’s gown where it fell around her hips and gathered her lithe frame up against his own. It had been so long since he’d wanted, since he’d _needed _like this. So long since he’d felt human enough to even look, so long since he’d been _James _enough to feel the heat roiling in his core and racing towards his heart. 

“I don’t care.” he said again. “I don’t have a choice in anything in my life and tonight is the first time I’ve been James in longer than I can count. Even if it costs me a piece of myself, you’d jus’ be one in a line of people who own me.” 

“Oh darling.” Wanda’s eyes flickered red in sadness. “Do not ask for me because you think there is nothing to lose. That is not a reason to give away a piece of your soul.” 

“Then I’ll give it away cos this part of me is th’ only part Hydra hasn’t touched.” James looked down at himself, at the undamaged body and flesh and bone hands. “And it’d be nice to think someone out there knows m’still there beneath the Soldier. Will I know you again on the next– the next Night of the Spirits?” 

“You will know me forever.” Wanda promised and James nodded, bending close to press their lips together one more time, quieting Wanda’s shaky sigh and cupping her face just gently _gently _with his hands. 

“This side of forever is better than the other.” He murmured, thinking of the Soldier still yet to wake in the motel and the life that was waiting there for him. “Will you– could we–” 

“Come on then.” Wanda linked their fingers and pulled him towards the bed. “Before the moon finds the horizon again and the sunrise bids us part.”

****************

The moon was barely disappearing when James swung his feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor, dropping his face into his hands and exhaling noisily as he tried to reconcile the euphoria of the last few hours with the _awfulness _of of the last several decades. 

He was sure he wouldn’t remember how to touch a lover, or remember how to be touched and maybe it was magic, maybe it was their souls sparking close on a night when spirits walked the surface world, maybe it was _fate_– but he had known Wanda as if she were his own and she had known _him _with an intensity that had lit red and white magic between their bodies. 

The witch was quiet now, drawing her fingers along James’s left shoulder where the metal met skin in the Soldier’s body. She traced the lines of invisible scars, drew along the crease where the Soldier’s arm molded to unforgiving steel as if she could see it, or at least feel it, and James thought for a moment that maybe she could. 

“It hurts very much?” Wanda asked then, and James replied with a quiet, “Always.” 

“I wish I could help.” Wanda’s palm heated at James’s shoulder and he sighed, arching back into the warmth. “But this is not the Soldier’s body and once the night has passed you will not know me again until the festival next year.” 

“S’alright.” James shook his head and Wanda smiled, “The longer you are yourself the more you speak like one of those soldiers, the ones from New York.” 

“Seems ‘bout right.” James felt around for his pants and pulled them up to his hips, then plucked his shirt and jacket from the floor. “New York sounds like home t’me.” 

There was a basket of fruit at the table where James’s boots had been discarded and his hand hovered over a plum for a few seconds. “Could I– could I have one of these? I think I like plums.”

“Take one.” Wanda came up behind him and pressed close to his back, placing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades and winding her arms around his waist. “Take them all. Eat before the sun comes up and our time is over. You and I, the others and the wolves, we are all bound to the shadows so eat now before the sun takes our freedom away.” 

James bit into the ripe fruit, crunched through the tart skin and sank his teeth into the sweeter pieces beneath. The flavors were bright and almost shocking, purple and amber so vivid he thought he could taste the _color _of it all, and when juice ran down his mouth to his chin, James huffed a surprised laugh and took another bite that was just as big as the first. 

Wanda smiled to herself, but it tinged with _sadness _and she held James just a little bit tighter as the furthest edges of the sky began to lighten and the solid form beneath her hands began to fade away. 

“You have to hurry.” James turned in her arms and Wanda wiped away the last of the juice from his lips. “You have to hurry back to yourself, James. You cannot be caught here in the sunlight or you’ll fade away to nothing.” 

“That body in the motel is not me.” 

“It is for now.” she whispered, and pushed lightly at his chest. “Go on. Before the night ends.” 

“Wanda–” 

“It will be a long time before you see me again.” Wanda twirled a design into the air with her fingers, drawing it with dark red lines. “Not so long that you forget me, long enough that you will not recognize yourself in the mirror again. But don’t worry. When you come back, I’ll be here waiting. On the Night of the Spirits, no paths lead anywhere, but all your paths will lead to _me_.” 

Already the daze of pleasure was dimming and James could feel a _pull _at his very soul as if the Soldier was forcing him back inch by inch, the clarity of being _him _fading with every breath and the ache of his physical body returning in waves. “I can feel it.” he said slowly, wearily. “I can feel th’ soldier again.” 

“You have to go.” she murmured. “James, go before it’s too late.” 

James _went_, walking backwards so he could watch her for as long as he could, and then finally disappearing around a bend in the path that would take him back to the city. 

He was gone, leaving the witch alone to face the rising sun. 

Wanda stood in the doorway of her tent and watched the festival grounds wake up slowly, the _others _gorged from a night feasting on humans, the wolves sated and quiet, the _Iele’s _abandoning the crossroads to sleep off their meals and magic until the next season. 

“Another time, James.” she whispered to no one in particular, her magic weaving a star in the air that lingered for a moment before dissolving into sparks. “Another time.” 

**************** 

James made his way through the winding streets back towards the motel where the Soldier was waiting, climbing the stairs with feet that felt heavier every step, reaching for the door handle but simply phasing through instead. 

For a long time he stood and stared at the body on the bed, at the scars and the gleaming arm, the long hair and tense features, the width and breadth of a man enhanced, a man so different from James and a man who _was _James all at the same time. 

And James was tempted, he was tempted to throw open the windows of the room and let the sunshine stream through and touch him in this form, to scatter him into pieces and end his soul so he wouldn’t be trapped inside the Soldier any longer.

“I’m real.” he said into the quiet room, and if he would have been solid enough to cry, tears would have ran down his cheeks. “I’m real, I’m James, I’m real– I– I’m _real_.” 

The Soldier opened his eyes and for a split second they flared panicked, terrified blue, his mouth open onto a breathless scream of “_No_!”– 

–but it faded to nothing more than an echoing voice in his head that was silenced by the first rays of sunshine. 

The Soldier sat up from the bed and stood to his feet. 

It was sunrise, and he had a mission, and that was all he knew. 

He was _awake_. 


End file.
